


Unfinished Masterpiece

by Osidiano



Series: Logically [2]
Category: Yu-Gi-Oh!
Genre: Explicit Language, F/M, Ignores Series Ending, Post-KC Grand Prix, Self-Hatred, Tragic Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-05-11
Updated: 2007-12-03
Packaged: 2018-03-07 20:38:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3182369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Osidiano/pseuds/Osidiano
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After their fateful chess game in the café, Isis and Seto continue seeing each other while she is in Japan on business. But Seto isn't a dreamer, and he's not a nice man. Words turn harsh when she announces her return to Egypt and Seto fears that he has ruined his chance at happiness.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Quick note on names: in my personal Trustshipping headcanon, Ishizu usually calls Seto "Set," since that was his name in ancient Egypt. She does this because she considers their current relationship to be a continuation of their original romance, just spread across their reincarnations (which is also why I sometimes use Logicshipping interchangeably with Trustshipping). I refer to Ishizu as "Isis" in the narrative because "Ishizu" is the Japanese pronunciation of "Isis." I generally reserve her Egyptian name, "Auset," for stories taking place in ancient Egypt.

The cigarette tasted dry and dead in his mouth, tar and toxins burning on the way down his throat to his lungs without care or acknowledgement. His long fingers were employed at the keyboard, clacking away noisily as his gaze flitted over the screen in front of him. There was a noise nearby, a faint static crackling in his ear. It was just loud enough to be noticeable, to grate on his nerves and make him grind his teeth in agitation. He stopped, hands clenching into fists as he closed his eyes, trying to concentrate on the voice that preceded it. But she was silent now, and he could not remember what they had been discussing. An angry curse escaped him, and he snapped his laptop closed, leaning back in his chair and removing the cigarette from his mouth.

"You're going to have to repeat that, Ishizu."

She laughed in response, the sound far away and slightly tinny. Had there been no interference, he would have likened it to some foreign music; would have indulged the desire to wax poetic on the subject. But now, instead of bringing that slightly awkward smile to his face, it only worsened his pounding migraine. He frowned. She did not laugh often, especially for him, and it bothered him to no end that he could not properly enjoy it. The cigarette found its way back to his lips, and he inhaled deeply.

"I had asked you how business was. Your 'Grand Prix' seemed to go well —"

"Go well?" he interrupted her suddenly, repeating her words in an incredulous tone. They were slightly muffled by his cigarette. "Go _well_? Compared to _what_?"

". . . Battle City," she answered after a moment's hesitation, her smile evident though he could not see her face. He could easily imagine the way her expression would soften, the curvature of her mouth that she would try to hide from him. She was probably doing it right now, tilting her head down and to one side, gently chewing her lower lip when she did so. It always made her look younger, somehow more innocent. Untouched. A sigh, and he rubbed at his eyes tiredly. Just thinking about his prior promotional endeavor made his head hurt. He finished the cigarette, grinding the filter into an already full ashtray next to the inbox.

"True, but only because no one died in this one," he stood from his desk chair then, moving behind it to stare out the large expanse of glass that acted as both wall and window of his office. His fingertips brushed its surface lightly, marring its clear perfection with the natural oils from his hand. The glass was cold, impersonal, smooth. He rested his forehead against it, closing his eyes again. It felt nice, but did nothing to keep his mind from her. He still saw her, brushing back the loose strands of her thick black hair that constantly fell forward into her face. Sometimes he would reach out and do it for her, and when he did, she would look at him with that drowsy intimacy that made his hands twitch and blood race. "Which reminds me. . . when can I see you again?"

An unnatural pause, awkward, fidgety over the static in his ear. He could imagine her shifting uncomfortably where she sat, smoothing non-existent creases in her white dress as she stalled for time. Or perhaps she had reached up to touch the pale scar tissue on her neck, now usually hidden by extravagant gold chokers. Her lips would be moving to form words she had no intention of saying, would silently stumble over useless replies until she came to an acceptable one. He gave her all the time in the world to find it.

"Do I always come to mind when you think of death?"

"Just answer the question, Ishizu."

"Oh. . ." she was struggling with something, not some word or phrase but something less substantial, more important. Gently, he reached up to touch the earpiece of his headset as the static in the background got louder. He was about to ask if she was still there when he heard her tinny response, nearly whispered from the speaker. "I don't think that it's a very good idea to keep —"

"Don't you dare try to run away from me, goddamnit," he interjected with a snarl, eyes snapping open into an angry glare and an ugly scowl taking up residence on his countenance. A part of him knew that she had recoiled when he said that, knew that she had hunched her shoulders and turned her head as though he had just slapped her smartly across the face. His other hand clenched into a fist on the surface of the window, and he cursed himself for his tactlessness, his blatant cruelty. But he could not change, no matter how hard he tried. He bit back hundreds of harsh words every time they spoke and yet it was never enough.

 _How did she stand it?_ He wondered, swallowing hard. He was a monster; a pitifully hateful excuse for a human being. Absorbed as he was by his pride, his vengeance, how had she managed to care for him? To force her way into his thoughts? Or, perhaps more importantly, why did she bother? They were questions that he could not bring himself to ask out of a vague fear that he would not like the answer.

". . . I would never run from you, Set," she whispered, intimate, slightly breathy. Seto shivered when she said his name, when she cut it short like that. "I had meant to tell you earlier, but it. . . it slipped my mind. . ."

"Get to the point, Ishizu; what are you talking about?"

"You know that I was only here in Japan on business, so it shouldn't come as any surprise that I'm on my way to the airport as we speak; my flight leaves within the hour."

"But you ca—" he snapped his teeth down on his tongue, silencing himself. _But you can't leave_ , he had been going to say. _You are mine, a beautifully unfinished masterpiece in my exquisite collection._ Quickly, he turned from the view out his window, casting his gaze around his office for something. He took a deep, steadying breath, licking his lips before making up his mind about what to do with this recent turn of events. A part of him begged him not to. _You are going to regret it_ , it said, it pleaded with him. _You will never be able to take it back ; do not do this_. But he ignored the warning. "Well, then. I'm sure that your fellow inbred cultists will be equally glad to have you back."

". . . Is that all you have to say to me, Set?" she sounded hurt, like he had shattered some vague hope or belief of hers. She also sounded angry, like the disillusionment had left her as violently bitter as it had left him. But it did not matter, he told himself. She was leaving. Not Japan, but him. Abandoning him, and what they had, or what they could have had if she just stayed. He felt betrayed, and vengeance was his top priority.

"It's just that you seem so fucking thrilled to be able to go back to your little hole in the ground. I suppose that things are better for you there, underneath a crumbling third-world country, aren't they?" he growled the question through clenched teeth. He had wanted to sound careless, but that plan had fallen through. But as long as it hurt her, it would be okay. Because that was what he was supposed to do; he was supposed to hurt her, and he cursed himself for it. She was leaving and all he could think about was making her suffer. Shaking, he reached for his cigarettes, pulling one out as he fumbled with the lighter. He wanted to hate her, desperately needed to hate her for this, but found that he could not manage to pin the emotion with her soft lapis eyes.

 _Fuck_.

". . . That's really it, isn't it? That's how you have to end this?" her voice quivered, and it sounded like she might — had she been any other woman — be on the verge of tears. He opened his mouth to speak, to try to take it back. To apologize, but his throat closed around it, his pride crippling the attempt. And another. And another. He heard her sharp inhalation, and could feel the weight of her glare as she prepared her final words for him. "I am sorry that things got out of hand; it was just supposed to be one game of chess. And while I don't expect you to care, I want you to know that I woke up this morning loving you, and wishing you were there with me."

The lit cigarette fell from his stunned fingers, his mouth left open in shock. They did not say things like that to each other; they did not let themselves fall in love with one another. Seto let out a shaky breath that he had not realized he had been holding. She had implied a world — nay, an entire universe — of snuffed out possibilities between them. She had just made a confession of love in past tense. Seto swallowed hard, and tried to speak:

"I. . . Ishizu, I —"

"Goodbye, Set," she spoke tersely, and it was quickly followed by the distinctive sound of her hanging up. The light on his cell phone turned off automatically, and he let his gaze drop to the smoldering cigarette on the carpet. He was silent for a long time, thinking about the way she had said 'goodbye.' She meant that it was over, whatever it was that they had had. She meant that she would no longer be a work of art to be displayed, she would never again be that same sculpted goddess that he had worshipped in the privacy of his mind. Finally, the brooding depression setting in gave way to anger, and he ripped his headset off his ear.

"That _bitch_!" he screamed the words, squeezing his eyes shut. He felt his arm come back and then snap forward, rocking his body with the momentum of the throw. A moment later, and the device smashed into the screen of the television that was set into the left wall of his office, delicate hardware shattering. His breathing was rapid and irregular as he headed for the door. For the elevator. For his car.

For the airport.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Seto races against time and reason to fix what could have been the biggest mistake of his life, hoping that he can make Isis understand that there is more to their lives than this.

He had taken the steps two at a time when he came to the conclusion that the elevator was taking too long. He had nearly shot the skinny young man in the parking garage when he was asked if he could hand over his ticket stub. From there, he had sped through downtown Domino, running two red lights and nearly killing a man who had been trying to cross the street in front of him. There was a police car tailing him with sirens blaring and lights flashing, but — somehow — he could not bring himself to pull over. He did not have time to slow down, he told himself. Seto pulled his cell phone out of his jacket pocket, the car swerving slightly as he struggled to get it out, and he realized that the speed dial function was a brilliant invention. When pushing a hundred and sixty kilometers per hour, it was usually a good idea to keep both eyes on the road.

"Isono," he barked the name as soon as the individual on the other end answered, not even giving the older man time to acknowledge it. "Get the Domino International Airport on the line, and stall all flights to Egypt."

"Sir? How —" Isono began to ask, but was brutally cut off by his employer.

"Look, I don't care if you have to call in a goddamn bomb threat, but if that plane takes off I'll have your head. Understand?"

"Yes, sir! Is there —"

"Tell airport security I'm on my way, and that if they don't let me through, I'll shoot them and bankrupt their company. Also, there's a patrolman following me; get rid of him." As soon as Seto finished giving the order, he snapped the phone shut and dropped it onto the seat beside him. He allowed himself the ghost of a smile as he flew up the freeway 'on' ramp; having the entire city nestled in the palm of his hand, ready to crush at a moment's notice, seemed to have perks even outside of card games and over-the-top promotional endeavors. Good to know.

The airport exit was coming up on his right, and Seto downshifted to fourth to accelerate, glancing up to his rearview mirror to check on the police car. He could not hear the siren any more, but the lights were still on, and it did not appear that the officer had any intention of backing off. Seto growled, tightening his grip on the steering wheel as he zipped down the 'off' ramp. He turned right sharply, ripping up on the emergency brake and letting the vehicle's back end fishtail dangerously as he drifted through the corner going a hundred and thirty before dropping it and speeding through the intersection. The patrol car was just barely getting onto the street when Seto smashed the front of his new black car through the wooden gate at the entrance of the airport parking terminal.

That small smile of his returned. He _loved_ front-wheel drive cars.

He slowed down considerably on the winding access that led up through the many-tiered levels of the parking garage, but gunned the engine when he reached the third floor. The tires chirped loudly as they skidded and then caught on the cold concrete, leaving a thin layer of black rubber in their wake. He whipped into the first empty spot he found, aiming too wide and slamming the edge of his front bumper into the side of the unfortunate car next to him. Seto did not stop, did not tap the brakes or shift into reverse. Instead, he powered through the collision, scraping along the side of vehicle until his own had straightened into the parking spot. Wrenching the driver side door open was impossible at this point, though, regardless of how hard the young CEO pushed and shoved, adding hundreds of thousands of yen in cosmetic damages with every new dent. Not that it really mattered; he would write a check for the owner later.

After crawling over to the passenger side, which was quite the feat for someone so tall, Seto let himself out of the slightly smoky vehicle, retrieving his cell phone before his long strides carried him through the revolving doors of the airport's main terminal. Then it was down the escalators to the bustling main lobby with its endless lines of confused would-be passengers checking their itineraries and complaining about the layovers. He paused briefly at the bottom of those escalators to scan the departure kiosk; surely, he reasoned, there could not be _multiple_ flights to Egypt from Domino. Soon enough he saw that there was no need to rush: the word 'DELAYED' flashed in the spot where the departure time for her flight should have gone. It seemed that Isono had done his job well.

That was good. Seto was almost fond of that man. He would have hated to dispose of such a hard worker.

* * *

Isis was waiting for him at the gate when he arrived, immaculate and perfect and beautiful as always. She made sure that there was no evident surprise on her features when he walked over to her; the only hint of emotion lay in the way her delicate brows had been knit together. Was that a glimpse of anger, or confusion that she struggled to control? It was hard for even her to distinguish between the two. She turned then, making as if to walk away and board the plane now that their eyes had met. Seto reached out and grabbed her by the upper arm — just above the elbow — and pulled her back to him instead, perhaps so that he could whisper in her ear. She beat him to it.

"Don't you think that this is a little drastic?"

". . . Where are you going, Ishizu?"

"I. . . I'm going home, Set. Back to Egypt, and my brothers. You had to have known that I could not stay for —"

" _Ishizu_ ," there was a deliberate pause after her name, and whatever she had been going to say drifted off into silence. " _Where_ are you _going_?"

He had said it slowly, with a strange implication that she was slow to understand. If he had not sounded quite so calm and reasonable she would have been more prepared. Truthfully, she had been expecting him to storm onto the plane angrily, had been steeling herself for a screaming match. At the very least, she thought he would have started cursing by now.

She stumbled over a wordless explanation, mouth working silently as she tried to come up with the desired answer. What, exactly, was he asking her for, anyway? He knew where she was going; she had already told him twice now.

Perhaps he was looking for 'why.' Yes, that must have been it. She caught herself in the middle of her unprofessional blundering, and took a brief moment to collect herself. Seto watched her closely, eyes narrowed and lips tight. Yet he did not seem angry. Isis lowered her head slightly, fixing her gaze on his hand.

". . . I'm still a priestess, Set. I have a responsibility to my people and my family," she began carefully, without waver or falter. "It is my duty."

"And my suggestion?" he prompted suddenly, his lips practically touching her ear now. "From the café?"

"This is the real world, Set," she answered, trying to keep the emotion from her voice as she moved back. It was difficult, but she had been blessed with an admirable tenacity. Even now, she would not let him see her weakness. "And there is no reprieve for heretics and blasphemers. I carry my punishment with pride; why can't you?"

"If this is more of your reincarnation and destiny theories, I'm not interested." He tightened his hold on her, his other hand catching her chin and forcing her to look up at him. They were coming closer again without even realizing it; he still bent down to her level, and she rising on tiptoe. There was no uncertainty anymore. They had already admitted that they were in love, regardless of how impossible the relationship. "This life is all that I have."

"Of course. . ." she murmured, closing her eyes when the hand on her chin shifted to her cheek and became a caress. "Because you don't believe in 'forever,' do you. . .?"

He did not answer her. Instead, he closed the gap between them, kissing her deeply. She did not pull away or struggle, placing her hands on her chest and gripping the thick fabric of his jacket as she returned it. There was a sense of fear and uncertainty there in that kiss; a desperation that he had not allowed her to see in his expression or hear in his voice. It was rough and hard, his lips bruising her own with passion. Seto's other hand released her arm, coming around to rest his warm palm on the small of her back as he pulled her closer still. She was aware of people staring from the sidelines, but chose to ignore the nagging whisper of her conscience when it tried to remind her that she could be stoned to death for this blatant show of affection.

It was Seto who pulled away first, mouth moving to her forehead to bestow a small, trembling kiss. Isis laid her head against his chest, just below his collarbone. She was surprised by how well she seemed to fit there."Stay with me," he murmured the soft command into her hair, grip around her torso tightening. "Ishizu. . . I can give you everything you've ever wanted. All you have to do is —"

"Could you abandon your brother, if I asked you?" she interrupted, looking up in time to see a flicker of emotion cross his face. It was gone as soon as it had appeared, too quick to be identified. Isis would have guessed that it was pain, a muted frustration at their predicament. She offered him an apologetic smile as she stepped out of his embrace. He did not fight her this time. ". . . Neither can I."

"I won't let it end like this, Ishizu," he warned her, fingertips lingering on her skin. That drowsy intimacy was back in her eyes, that raw lover's need scrawled across her countenance. She did not even bother trying to hide or obscure it this time. He reached for her, hand jerking convulsively just before making contact and stopping short. She took another step back, afraid that his touch would shatter her resolve. "I'll find you, wherever you go. I. . . I have to have you, and I'll stop at nothing to get you."

But Isis just continued to smile at him, regarding his outstretched hand and little boy antics with a rueful shake of her head. He was still so young. . . sometimes she forgot that. Sometimes, when she looked deep into those lapis blue eyes, she could still hear him speaking long-dead tongues, talking of priests and gods and the sins they had to commit for the sake of the Pharaoh. It was hard, sometimes, to remember that those days were gone, that the High Priest's burning passion and unshakable faith were all that had survived the reincarnation cycle.

No, wait. That did not seem right.

Isis turned, nodding her head in acknowledgement to the man guarding the gate. She walked through the collapsible hall back to her plane, her thoughts heavy. He was not _so young_ now, was he? Younger than her, certainly, but no child all the same. He did not make promises to her the way a child would; he said everything with the strength and conviction of a man. Isis thought of the way that he had kissed her, letting her fingertips dance across her lower lip. He did not love like a child. He loved the way she knew he would, loved the way that he always had: hard and rough and passionate, terrified of making a mistake or overstepping some boundary, the kind of love that was easy to drown in if one was not careful. That was the way she remembered him from all those years ago.

Isis ducked her head when entering the plane, not caring that the action was unnecessary. She was not tall enough to need to for this flight. Taking her seat calmly, despite the strange looks she received from the other passengers, Isis tried to not focus on the events of the last few minutes. She stared out the window pointedly, hands clenched tightly in her lap. No matter how hard she tried, though, she could not get her mind away from Seto and that determined look in his eyes, in the sharp lines that appeared around his mouth when he decided on a course of action.

He was still the man she loved, despite the passing of time, and it hurt to think that the gods would not allow them to be together in this lifetime, either.

"I carry my punishment with pride," she murmured the words to herself, inwardly grimacing at how hollow it sounded now.


End file.
